#hee hoo im also just having fun writing him its fine

[eredins-a-king-aint-he]

     In a world where monsters and magic have all but become a relic of the past, people have stopped believing in wishes and curses. Monsters have mostly been hunted to extinction or died out, and magic has been contained, harnessed into singular forms that can be used and abused nearly without consequence. New machines are manufactured rapidly, providing humanity with transport and technology. With their newfound power and confidence, humans stroll around their sprawling cities every day, making wishes and invoking curses out loud without a moment’s thought. This suits Gaunter O’Dimm just fine.

      With the forgetting of the old ways comes increased opportunity for his ‘business’ to thrive. He watches and waits, and is rewarded with so many unwitting clients that some days he just decides to sit atop buildings and survey the spectacle below. Though this era has further widened his playground, it has made it just a little more difficult to instill fear. Suffering, on the other hand, is always nipping at the heels of humanity, as much now as it did hundreds of years ago.

      He is surprised by how often he thinks of the past these days, back when those who whispered his name felt true and instinctive fear, back when he met humans who were intriguingly complex and unpredictable. Back in the days when witchers prowled the land, killing monsters for coin. Though he has existed for longer than human minds could ever comprehend, that particular stretch of time, and the memories it holds for him, has stayed with him more than any other.

      Gaunter thinks of himself as a simple man, with simple goals, and when he sees a person with pure white hair, he can’t help but feel a lurch in the place where his heart would be, if… well, that’s a bit melodramatic, even for him. However, it’s not often that he feels that there is something unfinished between himself and one he has done business with before, but this particular soul—

      Gaunter is still waiting. The inevitable is bound to happen, he can feel it, can almost see it, but it isn’t clear yet, as if the inevitable is waiting too. Hundreds of years have passed, and he’s waited patiently the whole time, for he knows that if a soul leaves this world unclaimed, it will return. It’s simply a matter of time.

~~~

      The air feels electric one night, as if lightning is about to strike. It makes Gaunter antsy, nearly distracted. He sits atop an apartment building across from a well-known bar, only half paying attention to the patrons below as they enter and exit the establishment.

      “Fucking hell,” someone groans below, the words floating up to Gaunter’s sensitive ears. “I’d sell my soul for a burger and fries right now.”

      Now Gaunter is interested. The voice doesn’t just invite his attention with its words, its tone and cadence are just a bit familiar to him somehow. He looks down and sees three men leaving the bar, the middle one leaning on the other two. One wears a hat, one a hood, and the man between them is bareheaded.

      “Fuck’s sake, Lambert,” the one in the hat says. “You know better than to say shit like that. We’ve been taught—”

      “No one’s fucking listening,” the man in the middle slurs angrily. “Hop off my dick.”

      “Now now, children,” the one in the hood murmurs. “Both of you shut up. There’s always someone listening.”

      At the sound of that voice, a thrill runs over Gaunter’s skin. Is it really…?

      “Stop being a wet fucking blanket, Geralt,” the middle man snarls. “Why do I even drink with you two?”

     “Because you secretly love us,” the man in the hat says dryly. He and his hooded friend cackle over this while the man between them lets out a colorful string of curses.

      Excitement has begun to bubble inside Gaunter. He blinks, then he is leaning against a lamp post a block away from the three men, who are now walking toward him. As they hike their friend up between them, a hank of long white hair slips out from inside the hood of the man closest to Gaunter, catching the light.

      “I swear, Lambert if I have to give you a piggyback home one more time I’m gonna buy you a baby stroller for times like this,” the white-haired man grunts. “Eskel, you’re in charge of getting him a bonnet, the worst one you can find.”

      The man in the hat snorts with laughter as they draw closer to Gaunter, who is sure now, but he wants to really see—

      “Look sharp,” the man in the hat hisses. “We have company.”

      “No need for alarm, gentlemen,” Gaunter says, taking a step forward and bowing slightly. When he straightens, he locks eyes with the man in the hood, whose face is as familiar to him as the prints of his own fingers. Small details are different, like the color of the eyes. Honey gold, Gaunter notes. With normal, round pupils. Very pretty. The lines of pure shock written across the familiar face are different as well. The Geralt he knew would never show such blatant surprise to an apparent stranger. The shape of his face, the line of his jaw, the dark eyebrows, the razor straight nose, and the thin mouth, however, are just as he remembers. When Geralt swallows, his Adam’s apple bobs up and down, and Gaunter can almost feel the movement against his lips. He smiles.

      “I just wanted to express my concern for your friend,” Gaunter continues. “He doesn’t look so good.”

      “Do we know you?” the man in the hat asks, his voice deeply suspicious.

      “Ah, I hear that a lot,” Gaunter replies cheerfully. “It must be something about my face.” He pauses, casting his gaze over the three men once more. “Your friend looks like he’s about to puke.”

      The man in the middle is nearly dropped as the other two jump out of the way to avoid the sick, and Gaunter watches the ensuing chaos with amusement. After a moment or two, Geralt stops swearing at his friend and turns to stare at Gaunter, his eyes wide.

      “Why do I feel like I know you?” Geralt whispers. It seems that the other two are too busy to notice his departure from the problem at hand. Taking advantage of their distraction, Gaunter steps closer, until he is near enough to Geralt to smell the booze on his breath.

      “It’s very good to see you again, Geralt,” he murmurs. “It’s been far too long. You look well.”

      A beautiful pink flush colors the man’s face as he takes a hasty step back.

      “I don’t—”

      “Don’t worry, we’ll see each other again soon. Oh, and tell your friend to be careful what he wishes for.”

      He stays just long enough to appreciate the expression of utter panic that flashes across Geralt’s face, then he turns and strolls off into the night. There’s no need for him to stay there any longer. Now that he knows Geralt’s soul has returned, it will be easy for him to find the man again. He smiles.

      It will be lovely to get to know him again, slowly and thoroughly.